


and it feels like home

by veroniques



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 16:25:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11490195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veroniques/pseuds/veroniques
Summary: [4:04: yo guys the official unofficial spring musical after party is at my place after closing night it's 80s themed we've got an atari DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT COMING AS JARETH MY COSTUME IS ALREADY ORGANISED PREPARE YOURSELF IT'S GONNA BE (fire emoji) (baby emoji) - woods]It’s not like Corey had a crush, or whatever. It was just that he had spent three years completely ignoring the existence of Tom Phillips.(It's a high school AU!)





	and it feels like home

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Sonia for hand holding me through this one. As always, way too many brackets, way too many run on sentences. Not real (ish), not mine, etcetera.

The official after party ended an hour ago. It was a predictably tame affair, pizzas, soda and Mr. Bryan, the drama teacher, congratulating all of them on their hard work. Renee, co-chair of the Drama Club, got a giant bouquet of flowers and an even bigger kiss from one of the dirtbags Mr Bryan had talked into doing backstage work for class credit. Dean was the name of this particular kid, Corey was pretty sure he might have scored pot off him once, in another life.

 

To the collective whoops and hollers from the rest of their classmates Bryan interrupted their kiss with the most on-point throat clearing sound he had ever heard, before he presented Tom with a smaller bouquet. “We couldn’t have done it without you guys.” He said, clapping Tom on the back with one hand. Corey studied Tom’s face for a moment, he was still shiny with greasepaint and heavy costume makeup, stupid bulletproof grin on his face. No one swept Tom into a kiss, Tom instead lifted the flowers in the air, catching Corey’s eye. Corey found himself pleased at this, and then immediately ridiculous for thinking so. The past 4 months had gone much like this. It was weird. Not bad weird. But weird nonetheless.

 

It’s not like Corey had a crush, or whatever. Crushes were way beyond the dude who had been labelled ‘the Savior of Misbehaviour’ at one pre-season training camp. (The nickname had stuck, but it might have been because Corey had wanted it to.) It was just that he had spent three years completely ignoring the existence of Tom Phillips. Not in a mean way, Corey was above shoving kids into lockers, that kind of shit was for the second string, guys like Ziggler got off on that shit. But he definitely hadn’t given him a second thought. Until one day, when he had taken what Coach Helmsley had described as ‘a tough fuckin’ knock, kid, it’s a real shame’, and was told he couldn’t play football anymore. He had what seemed like 30 seconds to grieve the loss of – basically everything he thought he wanted to do – before Coach was introducing him to the bearded drama teacher, who then introduced him to this ridiculously tall and eager kid who introduced himself as “Tom, Tom Phillips, Drama Club Co-chair. I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

 

Turned out _‘Tom, Tom Phillips, Drama Club Co-chair’_ was literally as earnest as he seemed, and he threw himself into the role of Drama Club mentor to Corey’s not so wide-eyed protégé with gusto, teaching Corey about turn-out and voice projection – Corey going along for the ride, at first to avoid failing his required credit, and then as time went on because he couldn’t bring himself to spoil what was clearly fun for Tom. If Corey allowed himself to reflect, it might have also been because he was enjoying himself, and in particular enjoying the habit of verbal sparring he and Tom had fallen into. Corey might have been ever-so-politely forced into joining the Spring Musical, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to let a single aspect of it go by without subjecting it to his verbal disdain.

 

To his surprise, despite looking like an extra from the Brady Bunch, Phillips was kind of a huge smart ass and wasn’t afraid to give it back to Corey as good as he got. (If Corey had allowed himself real deep thinking time on it, what he really enjoyed was muttering smart ass remarks right into Tom’s ear as they waited backstage for their cues. That, in particular, might have been why he stuck around. He didn’t reflect on it, specifically to avoid dealing with this fact.)

 

So it wasn’t a crush. It really wasn’t. It was just weird.

 

-

 

The unofficial after-party was at the home of Xavier Woods, a junior who had played one of the T-Birds. For some ungodly reason, presumably because they wanted to hit as many drama geek stereotypes as they could, the party was 80s themed. For Corey, this meant fishing his beat up old Guns’n’Roses tee out of his knapsack and double checking that his hair wasn’t doing anything stupid. (Not that this was physically possible with the amount of product he used, but it was definitely possible he was slightly paranoid about it anyway. Years of constant helmet wearing will do that to you.)

 

The window of his car was cracked, and he could already hear the sounds of Cyndi Lauper coming from the house. For a moment, he contemplated driving home. They wouldn’t miss him, not really. To the Drama Club’s credit, they had accepted him with relatively open arms, although Corey suspected that was more to do with his cred with the burnouts than anything else. At the end of the day, everyone bought their pot from the same place. But he was sure they wouldn’t notice him not there. He was about to turn his car on, still contemplating, when what looked like a pink pillowcase with a red wig on knocked at his open window.

 

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, trying and failing to keep his cool veneer in place. After a moment spent trying to slow his heart rate he realised the pink spectre was Cathy Kelley, Tom’s…best friend? Girlfriend? He had never been 100 percent clear on their relationship and it had never seemed the right time to ask.  Cathy was beaming – Cathy was drunk, he quickly realised – and as he wound down the window he discovered she hadn’t stopped talking despite the fact that he couldn’t hear her, because she was midway through a sentence by the time he could make out individual words. “-s’gonna be so glad you’re here he was worried you wouldn’t come-oooomigod, don’t tell him I told you that!! Anyway we better get inside wait where’s your costume oh man did you forget?” He got out of the car, locking it (pointless – the window didn’t wind up all the way, but habit all the same), before he gave Cathy a quick once over.

 

“What…are you wearing?” he asked. “Do you like it?” Cathy grinned, preening a little, “Wait ‘til you see Tom, we’re matching!” Corey quirked a brow at this, but he let Cathy take him by the arm and bring him inside all the same. For a second, he thought about asking who it was would be glad he was here – who had worried he wouldn’t come.

 

He had wondered what a Drama Club party was like – he had imagined something way more sedate than the parties the football team held, but when he got inside it was much the same. The same red cups of cheap beer, the same group of oversexed teenagers in sexy Ghostbuster costumes doing body shots with the contents of Mr and Mrs. Woods’ liquor cabinet – Corey looked around but couldn’t see Xavier, this was probably for the best considering how much Grey Goose was ending up on the floor instead of in people’s mouths. Charly Caruso, class President, dancing on a table in legwarmers and a leotard, though – that was new.

 

He wasn’t looking for Tom. (He really wasn’t.) He fist bumped Big E – huge kid, defensive tackle on the football team but dating a girl called Jojo, who was one of the Pink Ladies – he was dressed as Tom Cruise in Risky Business. He even said hey to the burnouts, Dean and Baron and Elias, who had all gone with the band t-shirt option, Renee (one of many Madonna’s he could see scattered around the room) currently perched on Dean’s lap gave him an sheepish little wave and he resisted the urge to wink at her.

 

He even paused to criticise the music (currently Venus, by Bananarama), before realising he had interjected in an argument which appeared to be long running. “But Maryse, Madness ARE an 80s band”, this redheaded kid with an ET doll in a basket strapped to his stomach - Sami, Corey was pretty sure, said plaintively. Maryse, this crazy hot French Canadian exchange student, dating the dude who played Kenickie, shook her blonde hair stridently. (It didn’t move – she had a lot of hair product in and Corey made a mental note to ask her what she used.) “I do not care, we are not ‘aving any ska! Go away!” He gave Sami a sympathetic look before retreating into the kitchen to snag himself a beer. He was driving, but one beer might at least take the edge off. He could always walk home if he had to.

 

-

 

He was just taking a sip from his Solo cup when Tom walked in. Walked wasn’t exactly how Corey would describe it, it looked more like Tom had been shoved bodily through the doorway, because he stumbled as he made his way in, bumping Corey slightly, who quickly lost grip on his cup, beer spilling onto his jacket. “Oh shit, Corey, I’m sorry.” Tom said sincerely, fumbling around for some paper towel to mop up the mess, but Corey waved his hands off, instead pulling the jacket off, leaving it on the counter next to him. “S’all good, Phillips,” he said, and meant it.

 

He narrowed his eyes as he took in Tom’s outfit. It wasn’t a pink pillowcase – it was a checkered blazer, with short sleeves, a bolo tie and a pair of pants that looked like – _Christ_ – it looked like Cathy would have sewn him into them, the same way they had sewn Renee into her Sandy costume. Corey felt his mouth go dry as looked at the pants for as long as he deemed appropriate – which was about 10 seconds longer than a normal person would deem appropriate – before flicking his eyes back to Tom’s face.

 

Tom, to his credit, either hadn’t noticed him staring or was pretending it hadn’t happened, and was holding a fresh cup. “Here you go.” Corey took the cup gratefully, studiously avoiding brushing his fingertips against Tom’s own. “What about you?” Corey nodded towards the keg, and Tom shook his head. “I have to get Cathy home – I can’t drink.”

 

When asked later, he would swear up and down that what he did next was purely altruistic. He had attended his share of parties, Tom, he got the feeling, hadn’t. So there was that. There was also the vague nagging thought that Corey didn’t want Tom and Cathy, (cute, tipsy Cathy) walking home together, even if he was praying that his assumption on that course was incorrect. But that was irrelevant. Tom needed to cut loose. He was doing a friend a favour.

 

“You’re walking, right? You and Cathy?” Tom nodded, a little confused. Corey handed Tom the beer, “Go ahead. I can drive you guys home, it’s cool.” Tom took the beer gratefully. “Don’t get wasted though, Phillips” Corey warned. “I can handle one person puking in my car at a time, and I’m pretty sure Kelley’s already booked that spot.” Tom grinned, and took a long pull from the cup. Corey swallowed heavily, and tried not to watch the muscles in Tom’s throat do the same.

 

"So," Corey began, eyes searching for something non alcoholic he could drink to get this dryness out of his throat. "Cathy told me you guys are matching...but she's wearing a satin sack, and you are...." (...gonna feature in some real weird dreams, his subconscious supplied unhelpfully. He had only dreamt about Tom once, he didn't remember the details, but he had woken up half hard, and it had been very awkward the next day at rehearsal.) Tom clearly didn’t need to wait for Corey to finish his thought, his face splitting into a grin as he struck a pose. "I'm Duckie!" Corey didn't see a beak, what the hell was he talking about? "Duckie Dale?" Tom explained, slowly, the way you would to a child. "Pretty in Pink?"

 

Corey had a vague recollection of a midday movie his sister had been watching - a redhead, and the guy who was on Two and a Half Men now? Maybe? He schooled his features into something resembling recognition, while Tom gaped at him unabashedly. "Oh man, I cannot believe you haven't seen Pretty in Pink. What about The Breakfast Club?" Corey shook his head again and Tom winced, as if this revelation caused him physical pain. "Oh man! We're going to have to watch them, you'll love it." Privately, Corey wasn't sure how much he'd actually love them, but his ears did prick up at the invitation nonetheless. "You asking me on a date, Phillips?" His tone was playful, a little sarcastic, but not unkind, his heart working overtime as he waited for Tom to get all adorably flustered, as was their usual pattern.

 

Instead, Tom bit his lip, suddenly very intrigued by the rim of his Solo cup. "What if I was?" He said after a moment, eyes still looking, not at the cup anymore, Corey realised, but at Corey's own hands. "Would that be weird?" His voice was lower than normal, not quieter, but huskier. (Corey had always thought Tom had a good voice - the entire school knew Tom had a good voice. But it had never given Corey that itchy little shiver down his spine he had right now before.)

 

Corey opened his mouth to speak and found himself at a loss for words. It wasn't weird. Which was....weird, right? Not that Tom being into dudes was weird, Corey was into dudes (and girls too, but that was…extremely irrelevant right now). And it wasn't weird that Tom was into him, specifically. Except that maybe it was. There were a lot of cool guys in the Drama Club and Corey was...some jock interloper who didn't really belong.

 

Except it occurred to him that Tom _had_ wanted him here, Cathy had as much said that. More than that, people had been glad to see him when he walked through the door. Charly had hollered at him to join her on the table when he entered, Sami had nodded vigorously in response to his Bananarama comment. Even Dean had grinned at his Guns’n’Roses t-shirt, gesturing to his own, as if to say, _‘can you believe these guys?’_ Although even that wasn’t mean, it was…fond? Corey felt a wave of fondness, not just for Tom and for Cathy, but for all of these guys who had just…accepted him, when they didn’t have to. It occurred to him, as he was having this weird epiphany about how in love he was with the entire Drama Club, that Tom was now watching him, and also that Tom had found time to drain his first cup and was now halfway through a second.

 

Corey needed to get things back to where he was comfortable. Corey needed Tom to be the one off his game. "So," Corey began, "Cathy told me you were worried I wasn't gonna make it." Even if he had been wrong, the shade of red Tom turned would have been totally worth it. To his credit though, Tom nodded, looking up at him from the bottom of his second cup. “Yeah, she’s right. I wanted you to be here. Is _that_ weird?”

 

 _Jesus._ Again with the fucking questions and the looking right into Corey’s eyes, like he could see the inside of Corey’s brain. The worst part of all of this is that whatever fucked up shit was happening in Corey’s head, it didn’t seem to bother Tom at all.

 

Tom watched him for a second as he carefully did not respond. Tom had poured himself a third beer – he clearly had a little buzz on, half whatever reckless confidence thing he had going now, half warm beer and suddenly it became very important to Corey that Tom Not Get Drunk. He reached out and grabbed the cup, his hand against Tom’s hand, ( _holy shit_ , his skin was warm, the thought occurred to Corey as he raised the cup to his own mouth, he wanted to know if the rest of Tom was warm, too). Tom watched him expectantly as he drained the cup (it had only been half full, but who could be surprised that Tom Phillips was a sensible under-aged drinker), raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘Well?’

 

Corey was slightly stunned. Turned out _Tom, Tom Phillips, Drama Club co-chair_ , had a serious set on him. He was not going to let this go. Corey shook his head, looking down. “S’not weird, Phillips.” He said, his voice barely audible, as Tom stepped a little closer. He breathed in, unable to help himself, suddenly aware of the scent of….clean clothes? _Good god, Graves, you’re in love with an Eagle Scout_ , he grinned to himself, knowing exactly what he needed to do next. Unfortunately, (or, you know, on reflection, fortunately), Tom had the same idea. “You uh, you wanna go outside?” Tom asked, a sly little grin crossing his face.

 

-

 

It was balmy outside, the kind of weather which, you would think, would have more hormonal teenagers out in their friend’s backyard, trying earnestly to get, at least, to second base. Miracle or curse, Corey wasn’t sure, but the backyard was deserted. At least it appeared to be. He had about two seconds to deal with this before Tom had backed him into a wall.

 

“Hey.” Tom said, this almost sheepish little boy grin cutting across his face. Corey was hit with this ridiculously painful longing to have grown up with Tom, to have had this face in his life every afternoon, every summer, to know this person inside and out, better than he knew himself. Corey swallowed heavily. He had time.

 

Tom leaned forward, and kissed him. It tasted like beer and felt like Tom didn’t exactly know what he was doing – like Tom wasn’t used to kissing someone the same height as him, but it didn’t feel bad. Kind of the opposite, really, Corey mused, as he adjusted his chin to meet Tom’s better, and Tom’s hands gripped his beat up t-shirt. After a moment or two Tom pulled back, face flushed, mouth shiny with this dumbstruck look on his face and Corey couldn’t help it – he laughed. “Weird?” he asked Tom, mimicking his insistent voice from earlier. Tom shook his head eagerly. “Not weird.” He leaned back in, but a little voice in Corey’s head made a suggestion and Corey was never one to not do something incredibly stupid and risky when the opportunity presented itself. Corey grabbed Tom bodily and spun him around, pressing him back against the brick wall with an amount of effort that…look, it wasn’t forceful, but it wasn’t gentle either.

 

Whatever it was, Phillips was clearly into it. If Corey didn’t know from Tom murmuring ‘Oh shit’, as Corey leaned in to kiss his neck, he definitely knew from the, _oh shit, that’s Tom’s fucking boner, fuck,_ currently pressing against his leg in a way that, given the fucking fetish gear he was wearing for pants right now, had to be uncomfortable for Tom.

 

Without even thinking, Corey dropped to his knees. He really, really, _really_ wanted to do this for Tom, which honestly had to be a first. Corey wasn’t exactly selfish in the bedroom (or like, the brick wall outside someone’s parents’ house, in this case) department, per se, but this was about more than messing around with a hot guy. He wanted Tom to know, definitively, that this was not weird, that he was into it, that he was into Tom fucking Phillips, co-chair of the Drama Club. And, he figured, what’s more emotionally demonstrative than sucking someone off in a public place?

 

Tom was making these weird gasping fish noises, interspersed with pleas to various deities. He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and was tugging adorably (fuck, Corey had it so bad, didn’t he just) at his bolo tie, while Corey struggled with the zipper on those fucking pants. Realistically, Corey probably wore pants just about as tight as these but for some reason he couldn’t seem to get them undone, as much as he struggled. Had they actually sewn Tom into them? “Corey,” Tom murmured, “You don’t have t-“

 

“Easy, Phillips,” he muttered, stilling Tom’s hands at his sides before he continued, in what he imagined was a confident tone of voice. “Y’know, this isn’t my first rodeo.” Corey felt, rather than saw Tom roll his eyes, and he looked up at him, eyes glinting in what he hoped was a dangerous fashion. “You sure you wanna give me attitude right now, Tom?” he asked, as he ghosted a hand along the bulge in Tom’s pants. “…Cause, we could go back inside, if you want…’ Tom’s hands landed on Corey’s shoulders, fingers scrabbling a little against the thin fabric of Corey’s t-shirt. “N-no, I don’t-“ He caught his breath for a second. “I don’t want you to stop.”

 

“Good,” Corey nodded, his shaking fingers finally – finally, thank god, managing to win the battle with Tom’s zipper, the sound like a choir of angels as he yanked the pants down Tom’s hips with no small amount of frustration, “Now, I want you to do what you’re good at Tom, and shut up.” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Tom’s boxers before Tom let out a pleased little hum, interrupting Corey once again. “Oh man, I love this song.” Tom murmured, almost to himself than anyone else. Corey wasn’t paying attention to the music, and his ears strained to hear what he realised was Like a Prayer, by Madonna. _Jesus Christ, of course._ This time, Corey was the one who rolled his eyes. Phillips was such a dork. Corey was about to blow his fucking mind.

 

-

 

Honestly, it was kind of awkward at first. Corey had received (and given) enough blowjobs to roughly know his way around things, but for some reason he couldn't seem to get this one going. He tried more spit, less spit, with hands, without hands, but Tom was moving his hips too much, like an overeager puppy. It didn’t help that Corey honestly had a total moment of brain freeze the moment his mouth wrapped around Tom's cock, like, this was not at all how he had envisioned this night ending. He couldn't get a rhythm going and his knees were starting to fucking hurt - what the fuck had football done to him? But then, Tom shifted again and Corey’s teeth scraped along the underside of Tom's cock and Tom let out a little groan and Corey realised he was the one who was overthinking this. Suddenly, Tom’s fingers curled tight into Corey’s hair, and for the first time in his life, Corey regretted using so much product in it.

 

From there it proceeded relatively quickly. Corey got him through Like a Prayer, hands and mouth and hips and tongue, Tom with one hand warm and firm on the back of Corey’s neck and the other pressed against his own mouth, teeth biting down a little (an image Corey could easily get used to). It was two choruses into Pour Some Sugar on Me (and a really clever trick with the point of his tongue he had learnt from this dark haired opposing QB with a blonde streak and some major attitude) when Tom, who had been doing his best to keep quiet, considering their location, let out a strangled gasp through his fingers, before he came really fucking hard. Corey swallowed without thinking, the back of his hand wiping his wet mouth as Tom looked down at him, Corey finally looking up to meet his unfocused but also, unwavering gaze. Corey swallowed again, nervously, dimly aware in the back of his mind of his own boner – yeah that was going to be an issue for awhile. “Was that weird?” he asked, a study in nonchalance, even as it was clearly apparent to Corey that while he wanted to look like he wasn’t trying hard, he totally was. And Tom knew it. And Tom didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Not weird, definitely not weird.” Tom couldn’t get him off the ground fast enough, hands reaching down to grasp one of Corey’s own, firmly, squeezing it. (In that moment, Corey would have bet all the money he had that Tom was going to be a cuddler.) Corey ignored the sounds of his knees cracking as Tom watched him dust himself off, refastening his pants as he jittered, his eyes clearly lingering below Corey’s own belt buckle. “So, what do we- I can – but I’ve got to get Cathy home, but I want to-“

 

Corey cut him off. “Cathy lives on Almeida, right?” Tom nodded, confused. “So,” he said, taking a moment to think about, fuck, hockey stats, or roadkill, or how much it was going to hurt having to tuck his erection into the waistband of his jeans to hide it, whatever worked. “We’ll drop Cathy off first. And, you know, maybe we’ll take the long way home.” Tom grinned, way too eagerly for it to be truly hot, but somehow ridiculously attractive to him all the same.

 

They went back inside, where they found TJ Perkins had borrowed his parents karaoke machine, and they were now all taking turns. Corey sat back on the couch, listening to Elias do what he assumed from the tears was a very emotional duet of Wonderwall with this little underclassman he didn’t know - Noah, maybe? Tom sat next to him, not really touching him for a few moments. Corey was actually kind of grateful for that right now, while he was running through the Pens 1995 win/loss record in his head, trying desperately to look like he was less turned on by a guy in a bolo tie.

 

But the mic cord didn't stretch far enough, so when it was Tom's turn to sing, he shuffled forward down onto the floor, leaning back against Corey's legs. Corey said nothing, and neither did anyone else, but Cathy leant against Corey's shoulder, hiding a grin on her face that Corey could feel, her open mouth pressed against his shoulder gleefully, a tiny smile crossing his own as the lyrics to If You Leave started to appear on screen.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from the title are obviously from Like a Prayer, by Madonna, because I listened to that song for FORTY MINUTES STRAIGHT trying to keep this idea in my head as I was driving home. Also yes, that is a Carly Rae Jepsen reference.


End file.
